


Mylvia Tumblr Prompts

by tincanspaceship



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, More tags to be added, a tumblr prompt that got wayyy out of hand, also a, ft. Tilly as Michael Burnham, ft. jimothy kirk as ultimate wingman, if you're into that good stuff, includes a Shenzhou play, michael is a gay idiot, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-17 07:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tincanspaceship/pseuds/tincanspaceship





	Mylvia Tumblr Prompts

Michael’s brush flicks over the imperfect line of a star, the paint buildup on her right arm increasing. Her eyes drift again to the poorly-lit moon in the top corner. The urge to work on the lopsided crater surfaces, and she swishes her brush extra hard against the matte background. 

“I'll never finish this in time,” she mumbles, under her breath. Her attention shifts to the next marker, a small hole drilled right through the plank. She wipes her forehead with a paint-stained hand. Pigment covers her brush again, paint splattering outside an expanding nebula. The clock ticks. Michael refuses to look. 

“Neat!” Michael jumps. A puff of red hair appears at the bottom of the stage, along with a pair of brilliant eyes. Fingers claw at the stage, a leg lifts up, and a whole person thumps onto the paint tarp. Michael gapes. 

“Thank you?” she manages. 

“Michael, right?” 

“Yeah. S...Sylvia?” It comes to Michael's attention that Sylvia is absolutely gorgeous. Adorable. And her clothes are cute, the little embroidered astronaut on the wool sweater, the jeans, the sneakers with stars on the pale blue fabric, the rainbow socks. And her hair is perfectly framing her face--

 

_ Fuck.  _

 

“You're really named Michael? Like the girl in the play?” Sylvia seems ecstatic. 

“I know a Philip _ pa _ , too. It's weird.” Sylvia beams. 

“You could have auditioned together for the parts! That would have been hilarious…” Sylvia trails off. 

“She's more of a band girl. Plays the bass. And I'm not really cut out for acting.”

“Oh. I'm just gonna practice over in the corner. Will that bug you?” Sylvia whips out a script. 

“Oh...no, it shouldn't...do you want me to stop my, my music?” Michael stares at Sylvia’s shoulder, emblazoned with a tiny rainbow the size of her fingernail. 

“No! It's nice music, anyway. Tell me if you need help.” Sylvia grins and hops off the stage. She pauses, and turns back to Michael. “And can you call me Tilly?”

“Uh..Okay. Tilly.” Michael stammers. Tilly winks and heads for the corner of the room. Michael turns back to her skyscape, feeling her pulse in her toes. She wipes her brush on her apron and moves back to the task at hand. The rising and falling of her music is nearly enough to calm her back down. 

“ _ Captain!?” _ Tilly exclaims, the line landing in Michael's ears. Michael chuckles, almost dipping her elbow in a can of paint again. 

“Is this amount of sarcasm  _ alllllways  _ necessary?” Michael laughs at that. 

“Like...noodles.” Michael drags a streak of pale paint across the backdrop, hunched over in laughter. 

“Cap _ -tain!” _ Tilly surrounds her in dramatic pronunciations of her lines for an immeasurable amount of time. 

\---

The hazy glow about the last star has taken shape, faster than Michael expected. She dusts herself off, tossing her apron back on the hook, and hops off the stage. Tilly's abandoned her script and is instead rapidly tapping the spacebar on her laptop. A bag of chips sits open next to her. 

“Hey, Tilly, I know it's late, but...do you wanna go get coffee?” Michael doesn't drink coffee, but Tilly doesn't have to know that. “My brother’s boyfriend works at the place a few blocks down. We get discounts.” Tilly hops out of her chair.

“Sure! Let me pack up,” Tilly beams. Michael slips her phone out of her pocket and sends a warning message to Jim. He responds instantly with a winky face. Michael sighs, wiping stubborn paint off herself with a cloth. Tilly shoves her laptop in her backpack. Michael shoves her phone away and adjusts the strap on her bag. 

“All ready, Michael!” Tilly sings, her backpack over her shoulder. Her hair bounces around her, a magical quality to the way it curls around her cheeks. Michael's face reddens. “Do you mind helping me practice? It's a little easier with another person. I have an extra script--” Tilly yanks a package of papers out of her bag and shoves it under Michael’s nose. 

“Okay…” Michael accepts the folder and flips through it as she walks. Tilly stares at her. 

“How on Earth are you able to just walk around  _ and  _ read at the same time?” Michael freezes, mid-step over a gallon of paint. 

“Sorry,” Michael mumbles, waiting for Tilly to bounce up the stairs. “I just do.” 

“Oh, no worries! We're going to the place with that weird green trash-can-slash-bench thing outside, right?” Michael laughs.

“That's the place.” 

Tilly entertains her with far-flung tales and hilarious footnotes all the way out the door, into the humid wind anticipating rain, off the gum-patterned concrete of the school, through the park full of overfed pigeons, and finally in the warm doors of the coffee shop. 

Tilly stops to toss a crumpled wrapper away. Jim stares at Michael, his eyes comically wide and jaw dropped in exaggerated shock. His eyes shift from Tilly to Michael. 

“Oh, piss off, Jim,” she mutters. He winks at Michael before Tilly turns back.

“Hey, Michael! Welcome. Who’s this?” Jim beams at Tilly.

“Hi! I’m Sylvia. James?” She glances at his name tag. 

“Jim. What can I get for you?” Tilly hops to the counter, her eyes bright. She scans the chalkboard hanging against the brick wall. She chats excitedly with Jim, her curls bouncing about. Michael leans against the railing. Her hand almost slips, the sweat on her palms betraying her. She stares at the ceiling fan. Her mind goes blank, stress creeping on her.

“Earth to Michael.” Tilly waves a large green mug under her nose. Michael jumps. “You gonna get anything?” Michael stares at the foam in her mug, small lumps with crude cat faces doodled on them.  
“Oh...yeah. Can you find a seat?” Tilly gestures at the empty room.

“Easy. Get something good, yeah?” Michael floats over to the counter, Tilly’s blinding grin seared into her mind.

“Man, you  _ scored,  _ M. She likes girls, confirmed. You’ve got good taste.”

“Like  _ you’d _ know about good taste,” Michael spits back. Jim sticks out his tongue and hands her a mug with a lemon stuck on the face.

“This is about five percent coffee, twenty-five percent white chocolate syrup, and eighty percent milk. Should be tolerable to the weakling who doesn’t drink coffee,” he shoots.

“That’s a hundred and ten percent.”

“Because I’m  _ fabulous _ . Here--” Jim whips out a white pin with a rainbow heart and clips it to Michael’s collar, under her flannel. “--If the plaid didn’t already say it. Go get her, kid.”

“I’m older than you!” she protests, tossing a few coins on the table as he shoves her to the corner where Tilly’s settled. She plunks down next to the cheery redhead.

“Oh, look!” Tilly points at the planet and stars sitting in Michael’s mug.

“Huh. I see why my brother likes him.” Tilly leans into Michael’s side to inspect the pattern further. Michael could have melted into the floor a puddle of bliss and accepted her fate at that point, but through considerable effort, she was able to keep her skeleton intact as Tilly’s hair tickled at her chin and her jeans pressed into the light fabric over Michael’s leg.

“You okay with one or two run-throughs? Just gotta get the lines down.” Michael pulls her script out of her bag, laying it out on the table.

“Sure. Lead the way,  _ Michael _ .” Tilly grins.

“Stardate…”

\---

Michael tosses her script back in her bag.

“For someone not cut out for acting, that was pretty damn good. Thanks!” Tilly hops out of her seat, leaving her empty mug and cookie crumbs abandoned. Michael nods.

“Thanks for the offer. See you soon?” Tilly picks up an unused napkin, brilliance crossing her eyes, fishing around in her bag. She emerges victorious, clicking the pen and scrawling on the flimsy excuse for paper.

“Here. Text me if you need any help. Night!” Tilly skips away. Michael stares at the numbers in neat blue pen, her hands trembling. The door creaks closed behind her.

“Did she give you her number?” Jim stares at her in disbelief.

“Yeah.  _ She gave me her number!! _ ” Michael beams, clutching the napkin tightly to her chest. Jim hops over the counter and scoops Michael into a hug through one fluid motion. 

“We did it! I’m so proud of my baby!” Jim squeals, exaggerated.

“What did I say about hugs?” Michael sighs. Jim releases her, pouting.

“You’re no fun, you know that? Your girlfriend’s back.” On cue, the door opens, and a rather soggy Tilly stomps in.

“It looks like I’ll be staying a  _ little _ longer. Michael, you want a snack? On me.” Tilly shakes her head like a dog, water spattering everywhere.

“I...I’m okay.” Michael blushes furiously, the napkin in her pocket burning.

“You sure?” Tilly grins brilliantly. Jim hops back over to his register.

“Yeah.” Michael turns back to her empty mug, heart pulsing in her ears. Tilly’s sneakers make a squeak as she slips back into the booth, a paper bag in one hand and a mug in the other. She slides a muffin to Michael.

“Don’t act surprised.” Tilly absolutely beams at Michael. Michael raises her hands to cover her eyes.

“Stop, you’re blinding me!” Michael exclaims, smiling. Tilly chuckles.

“Aw, shucks!” Tilly bats her eyelashes. Michael takes a big bite out of her muffin, grinning hugely. “Do you mind if I ask you some shitty icebreakers?”

“Fire away.”

“How often do you wear light-up sneakers?” Michael snorts. 

“Never. Next question!” 

Rain pounds at the windows until the early morning and questions rebound until Tilly's many coffees wear off. 


End file.
